


Feel the Burn

by dollylux



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: 2008 Summer Olympics, Ass Play, Barebacking, Belt kink, Belts, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Clothing Kink, Fingerfucking, M/M, Marking, Possessive Roger, Restraints, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger Federer wore a hot belt during the Olympics. And then one day, it disappeared. Where did it go!?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel the Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is once again for Miss [](http://frogglesthefrog.livejournal.com/profile)[**frogglesthefrog**](http://frogglesthefrog.livejournal.com/). Sorry it took so long, bb. I hope you enjoy! And this is also dedicated to Roger Federer. And his [belt.](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/tantricmindfuck/-1.jpg?t=1219562540) And also his [sexy.](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v298/tantricmindfuck/-2.jpg)

Rafa took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He let his fingers fall down and rest in the long locks of the boy kissing his neck, tangling them up there and keeping him where he was. The moan that rumbled low in his chest made the boy kiss downward faster until he was kissing Rafa's chest, deft fingers tugging up on a loose-fitting t-shirt.

" _Sì_ , Feli..." Rafa sighed, curling down as best as he could to kiss Feliciano's forehead before he had disappeared all the way down to his knees. Rafa arched hard when Feli's mouth caught on one of his nipples and nipped at his ribs. He felt Feli's hands move from his stomach to the waist of his pants, and that's where they stopped. Rafa waited a couple of seconds before forcing his eyes open, looking down at him questioningly, his expression clear: _why did you stop?_

_"¿Suizo?"_ Feli looked conflicted: a smile was teasing on his lips that had disbelief laced all through it, his eyebrows were crinkled in vague hurt, and his tongue dragged across his mouth in what could only be lust. Rafa blinked at him in adorable confusion a few times, hoping that would charm Feli into continuing on his path to sucking him off but he soon realized this wouldn't be that easy. That's when he looked down at his own waist where Feli's green eyes had returned and he saw it: the flash of the red belt, the bright white of the buckles, that damning Swiss flag. Rafa dragged in a breath that ended the mood right then and there.

" _Mierda._ "

 

 

-

 

Before that night, he hadn't even known of the belt's existence. His own Olympic outfit hadn't included a belt, of course, because that would have been too polished for him, or at least the him that Nike presented to the world. But he didn't mind any of it. They gave him clothes to wear to work, simple as that. Sometimes they were too tight, he'd admit that, but overall he was just glad to be given clothes at all. He barely paid attention to what _he_ was wearing, let alone what another player was wearing.

He had lost track of how many beers he'd had over the course of the evening. Player cards with Gasol and the other boys had lent itself nicely to casual drinking. But the card game had continued on much longer than any of them had expected, and therefore so did the beers. Six, at last giggly count. Walking back to his room had been an adventure in and of itself.

He'd almost ran headlong into Roger Federer who was tucked up nicely in a slimfit hoodie and his white Nike shorts. A baseball cap covered his hair which he seemed to know sent people into fits of joy and elation, men and women. Rafa grinned so hard his face hurt. Roger Federer in the Spanish apartments.

"You lost, yes?" They both laughed like they had been waiting to do so, beaming smiles marking their faces instead of just polite smiles. Roger smelled nicely of wine when he exhaled.

"No, I won," Roger replied, a gleam in his eyes that sent Rafa into another round of giggles, those bent, long fingers pointing behind Roger at the row of doors in the hallway.

"Not on court, Rogelio! In hallway, in building, _edificio_." Roger winked at him flirtatiously, not nearly as tipsy as Rafa but loose enough because of the alcohol in his blood to step forward, to speak in a low drawl against Rafa's ear.

"I was looking for you, Rafa."

Rafa continued to grin but his cheeks pinked now, and he tucked his hands deep down into his short pockets. He looked down at his shoes and then up at Roger, a coy, somehow innocent smile written on his mouth. "And for what? Cards are done, I have no more money."

"I don't want your money, Raf." Roger smiled even more, a hand coming up to press against Rafa's chest, fingers curling there to keep ahold of him in case he started to stumble but he started walking him backwards toward where he knew Rafa's room was. It wasn't hard for Roger Federer to get any sort of information about anything.

"What you want then?" Rafa got the feeling he knew now, or at least he was drunk enough to allow himself to hope. He grunted softly as his back hit the door. He looked up into Roger's eyes the second he was settled, his mouth opening to speak but it was immediately filled by the curl of Roger's tongue, his lips sliding wetly across his own.

Rafa gave a purr of surprised pleasure as he immediately kissed him back, letting his hands fall heavily on Roger's sides, scritching at his shirt until it came up and then he was running his fingers along the naked skin of his ribs and down, his nails getting caught on the red fabric of Roger's belt. Roger dug his hips into Rafa's, grinding into him rather wantonly as they kissed, his hands coming up to cup Rafa's face, to hold him just there, not letting him move so he could feed from that sweet mouth, his tongue running over every bump of his teeth, over every inch of slick softness he could reach. Rafa's hands were trembling just a little and so trying to fumble for his roomkey was a ridiculous thing, one that Roger caught onto even while he was distracted by Rafa's mouth. He drew the key up from Rafa's backpocket and slipped it into the door blindly. Rafa allowed himself to be walked backwards into the dark apartment, making quick work of removing Roger's hoodie and throwing it toward the kitchen area. Roger's signature RF hat got put backwards on his own head.

He curled down and ran his tongue over Roger's chest, sighing out hot kisses that were a little too adoring not to have been imagined before. His nose dug into Roger's chest hair and he suddenly could not think of a sexier thing about anyone. Roger's attempt at walking Rafa backwards into Rafa's room ended abruptly when Rafa dropped himself down onto his knees, tonguing Roger's bellybutton so hungrily that Roger gave a little cry, pushing his stomach toward Rafa's starving mouth. He felt a burning exhalation rushing across his stomach but no mouth followed it. He looked down at Rafael Nadal on his knees. He was still wearing a soft Nike tee that hugged his arms and his hips, and his hair was hidden messily beneath Roger's hat. Rafa's face was nothing but lustful worship, all large, dark eyes and a panting mouth. Roger got fully hard just looking at him.

Rafa's eyelashes fluttered as he sank back completely onto his haunches, lifting a hand to place it on Roger's dick through his white shorts which were tented completely, the outline of him very visible even in the pale light from the window. The guttural moan that left Roger's mouth for that heavy hand made Rafa almost falter. Roger looked impossibly sexy here, shadowed and contoured by moonlight, his hair a mess of curls that fell every which way but the ways that Roger probably wanted them. Rafa let his eyes trail down from the top of his head to his face, his shoulders and chest and finally his stomach which he couldn't help but reach up to run his hands over again, letting his fingers slip over his happy trail and end on--

" _Dios Mio._ "

Level with Rafa's face was a hard buckle of the Swiss flag on a bright red belt, and just to the left of the buckle was another adornment, a square that captured the end of the belt and kept it hidden that presented those two letters that turned Rafa on more than any sort of pornography or series of dirty words: RF.

He leaned forward then to press the tip of his tongue in the exact center of the Swiss flag, his eyes lifted to watch Roger watch him. Rafa's fingers came up to hook on that belt, the shorts getting tugged just a little with the weight of his hands, his arms, the slip revealing Roger's hipbones, the beginning of the delicious "V" that led below his belly and ended between his legs. He kissed slowly over the belt, wet mouth on the woven cotton, until he got to the RF symbol and then he was kissing it, tonguing it, fingers tightening on the belt. Roger could feel nothing of this, not immediately anyway, but the worship of it made his cock jump, and he moaned when he felt it drag along Rafa's moving throat through his shorts. He almost pulled Rafa up to hurry this process up but Rafa stopped his kissing suddenly, the hard line of his teeth finding the edge of the belt and tugging until it snapped open. Roger felt Rafa's hands sliding slow and heavy up the backs of his legs, getting lost under his shorts to stroke the backs of his thighs and down to his knees before going back up again. He watched as those white, gleaming teeth tugged the strap of the belt free, not letting it go so that he could pull harder on the edge of it which lifted it loose from under the buckle of the flag, his pants loosening immediately.

Roger reached down to stroke Rafa's jaw, their eyes not leaving each other as Rafa ever-so slowly pulled the belt loose from Roger's shorts, the only sound in the entire apartment the slip-slip-slip of the belt through the loops of white shorts. At last the belt was off and Rafa was still on his knees looking up at Roger in almost complete submission, looking like a puppy holding his leash in his mouth. Roger reached down to rub himself through his shorts, teeth gnawing on his own bottom lip.

Just as Rafa reached forward to aid Roger in his ministrations, Roger reached down for him, grabbing up the end of the belt and tugging it, the look in his eyes instructing Rafa to keep ahold of the belt in his mouth even as Roger pulled him along. Rafa lifted himself up from his knees to follow him, not quite drunk enough to follow Roger on all fours, sharp teeth digging into the strap of the belt. Roger pulled Rafa into what he assumed was Rafa's room but he didn't really care at the moment, closing the door firmly with a push of his foot. He pushed Rafa back onto the bed and stood over him, watching him still with that damn belt as he unbuttoned and unzipped his shorts, letting them fall to the ground. He pushed off his underwear to torture both of them, his dick swollen and almost visibly throbbing in the cool air. Rafa reached for him but once again Roger was faster. He reached for the bottom of Rafa's shirt and dragged it up over his head, the motion tugging Roger's hat off Rafa's head, both items lost now on the floor.

"How long since you've been whipped, Rafa?" Roger asked this almost thoughtfully as he reached for Rafa's shorts, jerking them off of him without even trying to undo them, impatiently pulling off both of their shoes and socks and then finally Rafa's underwear. Rafa looked flustered, too turned on to try and translate what Roger was saying. He finally caught his breath, looking flushed and beautiful, eyes sparkling in the near-darkness. The belt tumbled from his lips as he spoke.

"What is whip?"

Roger crawled up onto the bed and lifted one of Rafa's legs with him, bending it at the knee to expose the back of Rafa's thigh to himself, exposing him and delighting in how much that rattled Rafa. Rafa wriggled just once before Roger made his hand rigid and brought it down with a loud pop against the back of Rafa's thigh. Rafa jerked back, surprised, a gasp tearing up his throat and escaping his mouth in the most exquisite way. His innocence was dangerously sexy.

Roger released Rafa's thigh and tugged on his arm until Rafa tumbled over to lay on his stomach, his hair like a wild thing as he tried to turn and look back at Roger, his eyes still huge but there was a glint of something dark there, something quite beyond pleased with this, something quite beyond begging for more. He practically offered up his ass for the belt that Roger was gathering properly in his hand. Roger reached forward with his left hand and ran an appreciative hand over Rafa's ass, pressing the pads of them in to get a good grip on it, grunting out a moan for the feel of him, leaning down to press a sudden, sweet kiss to one cheek.

"I dream of this all the time. Well, not exactly this. But definitely of this ass." He lifted the belt and teased it along the curves of Rafa's ass that was quickly lifting toward the belt, such a desperate little thing, Rafa's elbows pressing into the mattress, his knees digging as well until he was bent over on the bed at an angle, ass in the air. It was almost like this wasn't his first time.

Roger brought the belt up after what felt like a lifetime and brought it down with a quick, sharp flick of his wrist, the motion not too far from his fabled slice. The sheer momentum of the belt brought it like lightning against Rafa's skin, making his back snap into a tighter arch, a cry ripping from his mouth that sounded like pure pain, but Roger saw one of his hands steal away to tuck between his legs, saw the immediately fast movement of his arm as he jerked himself off. He stepped back just a little to admire his work, a now scarlet stripe appearing deliciously on Rafa's soft skin, seeming alive with the way Rafa writhed on the bed, moans and whimpers quieted by the pillows. Roger brought his tongue down to taste the mark he left, lapping at it and letting his tongue tease between the cheeks of his ass, the tip of it darting too fleetingly inside of him before he righted himself again. Rafa almost sobbed, begging him in Spanish between hot, breathless pants. Roger reached down to absently stroke himself as he watched him writhe, watched the rolling motion of his hips that brought his ass in a tight circle, up and down and around, earning a gentle rub from Roger.

"You want more?"

Roger was breathless now, too turned on by just watching this, by the power he had over Rafa, by the power that Rafa had over him. It was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to just plunge his dick inside of that tight ass and push until he saw stars. He almost smirked when he saw Rafa nod, his hair a mop of sweaty strands, obscuring his face against a pillow. He whipped Rafa soundly now, painfully fast movements that licked line after blood-red line on Rafa's ass. He landed one last slap in the perfect center of one cheek but this time it was the metal of one of the buckles that hit him and Rafa yelped in surprise. Roger saw the welt of it immediately, a moan rumbling deep in his chest when he saw the backwards "RF" rising up on Rafa's perfect ass. He almost came right then.

Rafa was crying now and Roger could tell by the throaty sound of his cries that he was close to orgasm. He reached for Rafa's hand that had a tight grip on his own dick and forced it to stop, using his hold on it to flip Rafa over, the bed squeaking as Rafa landed on his back.

His eyes closed as Roger kissed softly at his cheeks, at the tears there that were instinct because of the pain but no real indication of how he felt about this because his dick was the perfect representation of that, rock hard and jumping against Roger's thigh. He drew a ragged breath and opened his eyes, looking up at Roger from this close distance and, for a moment, Roger looked ethereal, otherwordly. Rafa's heart ached, his tongue tapping the roof of his mouth to say so to him but Roger was moving them once again, this time to drag Rafa's arms up over his head, the burn of the belt around his wrists immediate and deliriously satisfying. He heard the click of the buckle against the headboard and then Roger was sitting back, proud of his work. Rafa jerked on the restraints to test them, smiling up at Roger wickedly when he realized he simply couldn't move.

Roger moved like a feline toward him now, slow and unhurried and predatory. He captured Rafa's mouth like it was a feast, devouring him like it was his last chance. He ran his hands over Rafa's body, dying for the feel of him and taking it even more slowly every time he felt Rafa pull at the belt around his wrists. He sat back after a moment, just watch him lay there. Rafa whimpered like a spoiled thing, straining at the belt and stretching his body in a most alluring way. Roger reached down to circle his thumb and forefinger rather loosely around the head of Rafa's dick, jerking him off almost casually, licking his mouth when Rafa shoved his hips up to him, straining for more friction and a tighter hand. He let him go just as easily as he had touched him, sliding his fingers long and full down under Rafa's dick to rub at his balls, salivating to wrap his mouth around just one of them and so he did just that, curling there on the bed, a secret hand between his own legs as he mouthed him, taking one in first and then the other, sucking hard on them, feeling them tighten and tremble in his mouth and Rafa was practically sobbing again for the neglect of his dick, his thighs burning as he kept his hips in the air.

Watching his face closely, Roger ran a hand down now under his balls and pressed two of his fingers inside of Rafa without warning, lubricated only by the sweat on them. Rafa roared deafeningly, practically coming up off of the bed in his desperation. Roger jerked himself off harder as he rubbed his fingers as deeply inside of Rafa as he could get them, removing them and pushing them in in a frenzied sort of way, rubbing first the outside and then plunging back in, adding an extra finger sometimes, digging in hard at his prostate before removing them completely. Rafa's eyes were glittering with pretty tears and his hands were clenched into shaking fists against the bright red of his Olympic belt. Roger realized then that Rafa had been saying his name like a prayer, and he lifted his eyes to meet Rafa's. Rafa looked startled but immediately started begging him.

"Please, Roger, please. Please... I don't care what you... I don't care what you do, just please... I need you." Rafa was breathing quickly, almost too quickly, his chest shining with sweat and heaving without pause.

"What do you want, Rafa?" It took every bit of strength Roger had to say this to him because he looked too beautiful there, too much like his. Roger ran the free hand that wasn't jerking himself off down the exposed underside of Rafa's left arm, tracing the bulge of the vein there all the way down to his wrist. He glanced down and noticed the identical vein on his dick and traced that, too.

"I want for you to..." Rafa struggled with words, the alcohol and blinding lust destroying any chance of speaking coherently. "Please, Rogelio. Please?"

Roger moved over him now, their bellies dragging each other, their dicks in close proximity and jerking toward each other. Roger guided himself under Rafa's dick and pressed the head of himself inside of him. He could barely breathe now. "This?"

"Yes!" Rafa pulled so hard on the restraints that the bed moved, threatened to break under his power, his desperation. He shoved his ass down toward Roger's dick, trying to impale himself on it. Roger reached down to grab ahold of Rafa's thighs, lifting his legs until they were resting on his shoulders and then he was pressing down against him, forcing Rafa into the most impossible of curls, forcing him wide open for himself and containing him completely beneath him. His hand shook as he pushed himself the rest of the way inside of him with one movement. Blood in the shapes of moons appeared on Rafa's palms under his fingernails. They both gave gasping cries, the sounds harmonizing and echoing between their mouths. Roger kissed him over and over again, timing it so that his mouth was against him when his hips weren't.

He couldn't restrain himself now and he had no mind for finesse as he pounded into him like a rutting animal, his voice growling and cracking hungrily, outdone only by Rafa's cries which hinted at how invaded he was, how bruised and raw and captured he was. Rafa never stopped pulling at the belt, the burn of it already evident under the strap. He would have to wear sweatbands all day the next day.

"Who else do you let do this to you?" Roger couldn't believe what he was saying but there it was, gritted through his teeth as he fucked Rafa, his hair hanging in dripping tendrils around his face, drops of sweat raining on Rafa with each thrust. Rafa shook his head so hard he felt dizzy.

"No one. No one." He stared up into Roger's eyes, pleading with him to believe him. He felt faint with pleasure, with the blood that was spread over too many places but not in his head. He was trying to lift himself in the rhythm Roger's body was demanding of him, trying to help in this at all.

"Fucking no one. You're only mine like this. God, Rafa, you're so fucking good, so fucking good like this, and it's _mine_." Roger splintered on that last word, his body tensing and shaking with it as he came searingly hot inside of Rafa, the scream escaping him primal and possessive, his lips pulled back, teeth bared. He felt Rafa tightening around him in spasms, milking him for every drop he had. Rafa was crying now, really crying, and he was fighting the restraints like he would honestly tear his hands off if only he could get free of them. Roger reached up and fumbled with the knot he'd made, kissing at Rafa's forehead as he blindly untied him. Rafa's hands jerked free immediately and his arms came up to wrap around Roger, his fingers wild to touch every inch of skin he could, still crying softly as he kissed his face.

Roger shifted only to let Rafa's legs come down from his shoulders, the burn of it making Rafa wince slightly as he lowered his legs back to the bed. Roger kissed him tenderly for it. Rafa's arms finally settled around him, his fingers petting and stroking at the fluid muscles in Roger's back. Roger relaxed finally, coated in sweat and with the warm splatter of Rafa's come buried between them. He didn't care. And he didn't even notice that his belt had fallen behind the bed.


End file.
